Behind the Ivory Veil
8 Coupling
Wednesday 1 June 1955, Indianapolis, Indiana
“PROFESSOR ALLEN! Professor Allen! What happened here?”
He had never heard Miss Miller’s voice so loud. They were in the library, after all. Didn’t she know? But the hands that touched him were larger than frail Miss Miller’s. And the voice that spoke next had the deep resonance of a campus security guard.
“Professor. Wake up. Take it easy. Stay still. Where are you hurt?”
Wesley groaned. Hurt? Suddenly, everything hurt. Head, arm, face, back. He wagged his head left and right and regretted the movement.
“Attacked.”
“By whom? No one came down the stairs,” Miss Miller declared.
Then Wesley remembered the open roof door.
“Out to the roof,” he rasped.
“You just stay calm and don’t move,” the guard said. “I called for an ambulance.” He left Wesley where he lay with the surprisingly tender hand of Miss Miller on his.
“There, there. Just rest, dear.”
The security guard went to the roof door and fumbled for the right key before he finally got it open.
“Nothing on the roof but this box of bedding. What’s been going on up here? Something obviously happened to you. Did the attacker have keys? Can you identify him?”
“Yes. No. I had the roof door propped open for a little fresh air up here,” Wesley said. “I don’t know about the box. I know who it was, though. He had a knife. Stuck in the table.” The guard went to investigate.
“No knife here, but there is a big gouge in the wood. Could have been a knife. I’d better call the sheriff.” The security guard went to use the phone and footsteps on the stairs outside announced the arrival of EMTs. They had Wesley loaded on a stretcher long before the sheriff arrived, and bundled Wesley out the door.
“Who is going to clean up this mess?” demanded Miss Miller. “This is not a way to treat a library.”
“I’m sure I’m okay, Miss Miller. As soon as they finish checking me out, I’ll come back and straighten the room,” Wesley said. “Or in the morning first thing. Please don’t let anyone up here until I get back. I’ll put it back in perfect order. I promise.”
Wesley was treated and released from the hospital. His face was nastily bruised and he had a bruised rib. Most serious was his twisted shoulder joint that would require rest for several days. Rebecca was frightened and tearful when she arrived at the hospital to take him home.
Once there, a sheriff’s deputy came by the house to question him, but the investigation was perfunctory and slightly insulting.
“Next time you don’t want him to do you on the roof, Miss Hart, don’t go to the stacks with him. If it wasn’t you, don’t marry him.” The deputy left and Wesley sat stunned looking at Rebecca. She smiled at him.
“I wouldn’t have fought you off,” she said.
“Rebecca, I didn’t…”
“Hush, my darling. I know. I have more faith in you than in all the rest of the world. We need to call Doc Heinrich, though.”
“They are an hour ahead of us. It’s probably too late to call them tonight,” Wesley said. The painkillers had made his head muzzy.
“Darling, it isn’t even dinnertime here yet. They are probably having cocktails or something.”
“I hate to say it, but that sounds like a great idea,” Wesley tried to laugh.
“Not with painkillers,” Rebecca admonished. “Doctor’s orders. Where is the number?” Wesley winced as he twisted to pull his wallet from his pocket. He handed the card to Rebecca and she dialed.
Doc listened silently as Wesley recapped the events of the day and the previous day’s break-in and assault of Rebecca. Finally, when the story had ended and Wesley had spent most of his anger, Doc responded.
“Wesley, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t expect him to be so near already. I was sure we had covered our tracks in visiting you. His sources of information always baffle me. I… We would never have endangered you and Rebecca intentionally.”
“I’m so relieved that you were not more seriously hurt,” Margaret said. Rebecca, with her head next to Wesley’s listening in, quickly turned to Wesley.
“Dr. Jacobson?” Wesley said.
“I’m sorry. I’m on the extension phone. Isn’t Rebecca on with you?”
“We don’t have an extension, but we are sharing the phone,” Wesley said.
“Hello, Margaret, Doc,” Rebecca said.
“Are you all right, dear?” Margaret asked. “That must have been horribly frightening to you.”
“Yes. Who is he?” Rebecca asked. “He said he was a friend of the family.”
“He is a former student of mine,” Doc answered. “A man who scavenges ancient art treasures and sells them to wealthy clients on the black market. Most countries, as you know, have nationalized all ancient art treasures and have made it illegal to transport valuable artifacts beyond their frontiers. With the pillaging of most of Central Europe during and after the war, countries have scrambled to tighten controls, but there are many holes that a skillful smuggler can use and the communists are unwilling to help. They are as suspect as anyone else. It is rumored that one of the rare copies of the Gutenberg Bible was stolen from Germany and is now in Moscow.”
“Doc, is there a treasure that we’re after?” Wesley finally asked bluntly. “McGuire was convinced that it was a rare idol that he wanted for himself.”
“Not that I know of, Wesley,” Doc said. “I believe that the value is the city itself and the story that goes with it. We will be taking cameras to photograph the evidence, but there is no certainty that any of us could find the location without the guide. If Ryan has a spy-code of some sort, perhaps Wilton was recording something more than the musical language in his notes.”
“He mentioned a contact named Prometheus. Isn’t he the god chained to a mountain that the crows peck at?” Wesley asked.
“Yes, but I can confirm that Wilton’s contact went by the code-name Prometheus. There was a great deal of cross-over between, shall we say, occult circles and war spies. It’s said that Hitler attempted bizarre satanic rituals to assure his victory in the war.”
“Wilton was a Satanist?”
“No, no! Wesley, you must get past the point of considering everything that is not of your one true god to be of Satan. No goddess worshipper would ever bend his or her knee to the Christian god of evil. Ask Rebecca.” Wesley looked at his fiancée and she nodded. He sighed.
“What should we do?”
“How soon can you be ready to leave?” Doc asked.
“Classes are out on Friday. Rebecca leaves for the port in New York on Saturday morning,” Wesley said. “I’m clear as of my last class on Thursday—day after tomorrow.”
“Go with her,” Margaret said. “Make the voyage to England your honeymoon and then catch a ferry to France and the train to Athens. We’ll meet you there.”
“Honeymoon?” Rebecca gasped.
“We, uh… aren’t married yet,” Wesley said.
“Well you can remedy that, can’t you?” Doc said.
“Wes, I’m frightened,” Rebecca said as she hugged him. He groaned aloud from the pain. “Sorry,” she said, easing her grip.
“I would endure any pain to hold you.” He shifted so he could wrap his left arm around her without stressing the injured right.
“People just don’t go around killing people over mythical treasures!” Rebecca shouted. “They don’t.” Her outburst turned to tears as she gently buried her head against Wesley’s good shoulder.
“I’ve never been in a fight before. I’m still shaking,” Wesley said. “I didn’t come out of this one in too good a shape.” Wesley lifted his right hand enough to stroke Rebecca’s hair. He was a musician, not an adventurer. What was he thinking? “Becc, honey, I’m frightened, too,” he whispered.
Rebecca squeezed him more tightly and he caught his breath, but didn’t move or object. Where hadn’t he been hit? Her lips brushed the bruises on his face lightly as she whispered to him.
“What are we going to do?”
Wesley discovered his lips were not bruised as badly as he thought when he pressed them against Rebecca’s. She was so beautiful to him. She tasted wonderful as her lips opened to his questing tongue. His good arm pulled her closer as they lost themselves in unaccustomed passion. Wesley’s hand slipped from her hair and gently caressed her breast. Both were shaking when they looked into each other’s eyes with undisguised desire. At last, Wesley found his voice, though it was no more than a whisper.
“My love, we are going to get married and make love and go on a long honeymoon voyage.”
“Do we have to do it in that order?” she asked.
It was good. Nice.
Neither had experience, so they had nothing to compare it with. Once they agreed to sleep together this very night, things got awkward. Rebecca did not have sleepwear at Wesley’s house. She knew if she went home to prepare, she wouldn’t come back. Wesley gave her a pair of his pajamas.
“You wear this part,” Rebecca said, handing the pants back to him. “They’d just fall off me anyway.” Wesley took the pajama pants.
“Becc, if you…”
“Hush. We’re here, darling. I’ll be right back.” She slipped into the bathroom and Wesley quickly changed into his pajama pants. He pulled them over his boxers, then quickly stripped and pulled the underwear off before putting on the pants again. He didn’t take off his undershirt. He paced around the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles created from lying on it this afternoon. He looked at it and turned the covers back before fluffing the pillows. It wasn’t a big bed. If they slept together in it, they would be touching all night. Wesley tried to stop his erection from forming. He didn’t want to frighten Rebecca. She shouldn’t have to look at it.
He heard the bathroom door open and turned to see Rebecca walk into the room. His heart jumped to his throat. He’d seen Rebecca’s legs in summer shorts and even in a swimming suit, but seeing her bare legs sticking out from under his pajama shirt, took his breath away.
“You are so beauti… huhk!” Wesley’s heartfelt sentiments were interrupted by a hiccup. He started again and hicked again. Rebecca giggled. Wesley strained to withhold another hiccup. “Water,” he gasped.
Rebecca ran into the bathroom and returned with a glass of water. Wesley took the glass, his whole body shaking with the convulsions. He bent himself double, put the glass between his legs and attempted to drink the water while upside down. Of course, that resulted in water up his nose and a coughing fit that hurt his shoulder. Rebecca couldn’t contain her laughter as she ran for a towel to clean up the spilled water and wipe Wesley’s face.
But the hiccups were gone when she pressed her lips to his and kissed him with months of restrained passion breaking loose. Together, they edged toward the bed and sat on it, still kissing, and eventually, found themselves lying down. Wesley winced as he reached for her with his right hand, the shoulder not cooperating. But then his hand closed on the softness of her unrestrained breast and he pushed the pain away from his consciousness.
He was twenty-seven years old and had never felt a breast that wasn’t encased in a brassiere. Even those few occasions that he had dared caress Rebecca in this way had been only in the past few weeks after they’d been engaged and had always been followed by the mixed sensation of arousal and guilt. But this, now, was his wife. Perhaps they were not yet married, but they would be in a few days and there was no need to feel guilty about touching his bride.
The progress from kissing to love-making continued to be awkward, moving forward and then hesitating, not knowing what to do next. She had struggled to get his undershirt off without hurting his shoulder, but was then fascinated with kissing his chest. His hand slipped beneath the pajama shirt and for the first time in her life she felt someone other than herself touching her bare breast. Her hardening nipples spoke of her increasing arousal and preparation for her husband’s invasion of her most private places.
At twenty-three, Rebecca was no more experienced than Wesley. It was the way life was supposed to be. Even though her questing mind sought out the myths and legends of the goddess, her upbringing had left no question that she would be a virgin on this, her wedding night.
Their coupling was tentative and embarrassed. He slipped her panties off and she nearly cried from embarrassment when he discovered how wet she was between her legs. She pushed his pants down and he nearly reached his climax when she accidentally brushed against his penis. She snatched her hand back as if it was on fire.
Wesley had never felt anything as overwhelming as the touch of his penis to the wetness between Rebecca’s legs.
“Gently, please, darling,” she begged. “But please, do it now.”
He pressed forward only to have his erection slide up and over her slit and through her hair. She gasped.
“Where…?”
“I’ll… I’ll help,” she said. With that, she reached between them and tentatively grasped his penis. Wesley moaned. “Is it okay?” she asked.
“Yes. Oh, yes. I’m… I don’t know if I can hold back,” he said. She moved his prick into position and felt it between her lower lips.
“Now. Push slowly.” He followed her guidance, discovering the entrance was not easy but pushed more firmly and suddenly broke through. “Ow!” Rebecca cried. “Ow! Stop. Ow!”
She had not expected quite so much pain when her hymen ripped open to allow the invasion of his penis. Wesley started to pull back, but she grasped him firmly and held him. He gasped with the pain in his shoulder and bruised ribs.
“Don’t move! Don’t move,” she cried. “Just give me time. It’s lessening. It doesn’t hurt as much now. Oh. Oh. Are you all the way in?”
“I don’t think so,” Wesley gasped. He could feel the growing pressure in his testicles and was not sure he would ever make it all the way in.
“Go ahead. I can stand it now. Push in.”
“I’m so sorry I hurt you, my love,” he said. “Oh, my lord!” He was also sorry that as he pressed into her depths he felt himself lose control and begin spurting inside her. “Oh! Oh! Rebecca. Oh, my Becc!”
“I love you, Wesley. I love you.”
Whether it was the physical exhaustion of their first coupling or the pain in Wesley’s shoulder and ribs catching up with him, he collapsed to her side, pulling out before he had fully softened. Rebecca rolled with him and held herself close to him as he struggled to pull his pajama pants back up. In that position, they fell asleep, kissing each other and whispering words of endearment to each other.
To Rebecca, it was nice. She would welcome her husband whenever he desired her. To Wesley, it was nearly enough to make him a goddess worshiper. He knew he would want to make love to his wife as often as she would have him. Neither had ever experienced anything remotely like what had driven them into sleep.
Thursday, 2 June 1955, Indianapolis, Indiana
Rebecca rose early, before Wesley had stirred. She kissed him lightly on the head before retrieving her panties and going to the bathroom. She was a woman. She had welcomed her husband into her body and he had taken her maidenhead. But when she bathed, she was disheartened. The blood on her thighs was not dried. She had known it was near her menses, but didn’t anticipate right now. Why now? She knew that even though her vagina ached with the recent pain of deflowering, she would gladly have welcomed Wesley again tonight. Even this morning if he wanted. Now they would have to wait. She was just glad they had decided to go ahead last night and had not waited a second longer.
“Rebecca! Rebecca! Are you all right?” Wesley pounded on the bathroom door.
“I’m fine, Wes. I’m just in the tub. I’ll be out soon,” she called.
“There’s blood on the sheets! Are you sure you aren’t injured?”
“Yes. Yes, it’s normal, darling. Women bleed the first time. And… I’m very embarrassed, Wesley. I’ve started my period. I’m so sorry.” Rebecca broke down in tears as she finished rinsing herself in the tub and pulled the plug.
“Oh. Is there… Can I… What should I do?”
“Um… Could you bring me my purse? I need a… napkin.”
Wesley brought the purse and used the downstairs bathroom to give himself a sponge bath, carefully pulling on clothes as he winced with the pain. In the kitchen, he found his pain pills and took one as he put water on the stove to boil and got the electric percolator ready to plug in. He was still barefoot because it simply hurt too much bend over and put shoes and socks on.
As he sat contemplating the day to come and what had just passed, Rebecca came into the room, dressed in the clothes she’d been wearing the day before. Wesley jumped up to greet his wife and knocked the kitchen chair over in his excitement.
“Darling Rebecca, I love you so much,” he said as he embraced her. She blushed. “You aren’t upset with me, are you? Are you… disappointed in me?” he asked.
“Wesley,” she whispered. “My husband. How could you ever disappoint me? I know that we are not legally married yet, but I will always celebrate our wedding anniversary on June first. I love you so much, Wesley. Now that I have you I never want to let you go.”
“I should just come to Scotland with you,” he answered. “I’m really not going to be much good to Doc and Margaret with this arm. And… I just don’t want to let you out of my sight.”
“You have a class to teach this morning,” Rebecca said.
“Final exam in Music Theory,” he laughed. “I’ll be out at eleven. Let’s go get our marriage license. And go to the travel agent and get our tickets on your ship changed. We need to catch a train first thing on Saturday morning and I want to do it with my wife.”
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